


Chivalry Fell on its Sword

by doctorbuffypotterlock79



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Brooke is basically Brienne of Tarth what more do you want, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Knight AU, Lesbian AU, feeding my fantasy ass, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/pseuds/doctorbuffypotterlock79
Summary: Brooke is a young knight hoping to earn a position on Princess Vanessa's royal guard, only to find something even more special.
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 35
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this idea for months now and just couldn't get the words to come, but I'm happy to finally start posting. I really hope you all like this! 
> 
> Thank you so so much to Writ for supporting this from the beginning and brainstorming with me several times, and for betaing! Also thank you Barbie for supporting me and cheering me on with your comments! I love you both. 
> 
> I really appreciate all your support and feedback on my writing, both on here and on tumblr. It encourages me to keep writing, and I'd love if you could give some feedback on this fic!
> 
> Title from From Eden by Hozier

Despite the early autumn sun beating down and her heavy armor baking beneath its glow, Brooke runs cool with confidence. 

Her ears ring with the noises of the day: the crowd shouting and laughing, the clinking of gold as people place their bets, the clash of wood against armor, the whinnying of horses, the clang of expensive, intricate steels as swords meet under the sun. It’s a rough symphony that makes Brooke feel more alive than any lute or lyre. 

Her lance drags her body down, muscles sore and screaming from six rounds of jousts, but she welcomes the ache. It’s always there, whether she’s shaping steel in the forge or winning in practice fights, and it means she’s doing well. And right now, she’s doing _very_ well. 

Only one more opponent between her and winning Princess Vanessa’s birthday jousting tournament, between achieving the dream she’s had since she was a child curled up beneath thick wool blankets in the farmhouse, not knowing that warmth would be ripped away. 

Only one more opponent between her becoming a knight on the princess’s royal guard, to finally have recognition of her talent. One more opponent and it would all be worth it--running away from the orphanage and begging the forge owner Patrick to take her on at only 13, four years of her skin baking in the heat of molten metal as she shaped swords and armor in order to pay for her own equipment, four years of stealing food and straining her back sleeping on a straw mattress in an extra stall in Patrick’s horse stable. 

Brooke steadies her shoulders, grips her lance tighter, and hops on Snowball, her soft white mare. “We got this, girl,” Brooke whispers confidently. Snowball neighs in response, more than used to Brooke’s inner thoughts being shared with her furry ears, and Brooke takes the reins. With the leather between her gauntlets, everything within Brooke falls into place, calm and completely sure of herself, humming with the anticipation of the victory that’s surely coming. 

She’s been sizing up the knights--some who’ve been knights as long as she’s been alive--all day, noting weaknesses and strengths and patterns. _Even the strongest fighters have a weakness_ , Patrick told her. She just had to find it. Her final opponent uses a small shield, allowing him more room to maneuver his lance but leaving his side open, and his foolishness will be Brooke’s advantage. 

This win, and the knighthood, are hers.

The queen, Princess Vanessa’s mother, signals the start of the joust, and Brooke takes a breath and nudges her horse down the track. Dirt and mud explode beneath Snowball’s hooves, the crowd’s screams fading to a dead silence as her opponent nears. She positions her lance, the tip connecting just above his shield--

Brooke grins as the crash tears through the air, laughing to herself as the knight hits the ground, mud splattering up his armor and pristine white cloak, the golden rose of the Mateo crest awash in brown. Only a fool would wear a white cloak in a jousting match, and Brooke knows it serves him right. 

Brooke almost lurches out of her saddle. She won. Her years of cuts and bruises and pain from battle training with Patrick paid off, and she won’t have to hide every last crumb of food so people don’t steal it from her, won’t have to shiver in the stable anymore. She’ll have a real bed, maybe even a real _home_ , in the castle that she’ll fight to defend. She’s proved every customer who came to the forge and said a girl had no business with swords wrong, and it feels almost as good as the gold. 

A lull in the stands gives way to mutterings and curses, punctuated with hesitant claps over the biggest tournament upset in decades. Brooke smiles beneath her helmet. No one would put money on an unnamed knight with a blank breastplate, and she’s guessing she cost people a lot of gold. That’ll teach them to bet against her. 

The princess stands, and silence reigns once more. “As you know, this year’s winner will be appointed an official member of the royal guard. Would the winning knight please come forward?” 

Brooke’s stomach twists more than it did during the joust, suddenly aware of every eye in the arena on her. _Let them look_ , a whispering brave voice, _her_ voice, comes through. _You won. You deserve it._ She trots over to the dais, the steps stretching in front of her until she finally reaches the top and sinks to her knees before the princess. 

Brooke can’t see well through the slit in her helmet, but the princess’s small frame--Brooke doubts Vanessa would even reach her shoulder--drips with confidence and charm and something Brooke can’t place. Kindness, she realizes. It’s not something Brooke has seen often, not something she knows how to recognize, but it fits the hopeful, awed tone villagers use when talking about the princess, confident she’d rule as well as her father, who died last spring and had one of the grandest funerals in centuries. 

“Would you please remove your helmet?” Princess Vanessa asks gently, and the fact that she asks rather than commands makes Brooke think the villagers are right. 

Brooke’s shaking hands slide up the metal, releasing a spray of sweat from her soaked hair and launching gasps from the nobles around her. They clearly didn’t expect the tall, bulky armor to be filled out by a girl, especially not with hair as short as hers. 

Brooke blinks wildly as she adjusts to full sight again, the word exploding with color and noise around her, and one good look at the princess explains why people fight tooth and nail for a glimpse of her in her carriage when she passes through the towns. 

The princess’s rosy cheeks bloom against smooth skin, sun-baked and as golden as the Mateo crest. Tiny strands of soft brown hair spring forward in the heat, glowing under the sun. But more than her looks--the very air around seems touched by magic, like being close to her and earning her trust would bathe you in that same magic. 

Brooke has never seen any princess or noble up close, but Vanessa fits the part perfectly, even as her mouth drops open and she gasps when she sees Brooke, as shocked as everyone else. No one has said a word yet, everyone just staring at her like some animal, and Brooke lowers her head, her brave voice too distant to be her own voice anymore.

“I think you need to come back to the castle,” the princess says. 

\---

The walk through the castle is a blur, up twisting staircases and down winding halls, past smooth gray stone and colorful tapestries, before ending in a council room with Brooke kneeling before the queen and princess. Brooke can’t help but feel like she’s on trial, that her entire fate is in the princess's slim hands. She’s losing her confidence, losing her sureness now that she’s here on her knees and not perched on horseback. Brooke always knows every move she needs to make in the arena, knows each fighting strategy and attack pattern. But she has no idea what her next move is in this pristine council room. 

“Please state your name.” The queen is direct and firm, but not mean, and Brooke holds on to hope that she’s not in trouble. There weren’t any rules against girls being knighted, but Brooke reminds herself that this woman _makes_ the rules. If the queen doesn’t like Brooke, she can make her life miserable any way she wants, and no one will question it. 

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, Your Majesty.”

“Your age?”

“Seventeen, Your Majesty.”

“And the castle you fight for? The lord sponsoring you? Your crest?” 

“I don’t have any of those, Your Majesty.” Brooke says quietly. 

“What brings you to the tournament this year?” 

There’s a glimmer of suspicion in the queen’s eyes, and a chill runs through Brooke as she realizes why. People entered tournaments on behalf of lords that paid their way, or if they were from other royal families. She’s an unknown knight with no family or lord sponsoring her, clearly straight from the streets, who entered a prestigious tournament and beat members of the royal guard. Brooke couldn’t have come up with a more suspicious story if she tried.

But how can Brooke explain to a woman whose shoes alone cost more than people in the villages make in a lifetime that she couldn’t enter the tournament until now because she had to work in a forge just to pay off her armor, sword, and horse? How would a woman who has everything brought to her understand the four years Brooke spent sweating over molten metal, singeing her fingers and straining her muscles, all in the hopes of a title and gold that amounts to mere change for a queen? 

Still, the condescension is nothing new. She’s faced in it the smirks of men who came to the forge as they realized that even with her height and muscles, Brooke was still nothing more than a girl, and in the whispers that a peasant such as her had no business among the noble ranks of knights. 

The queen can look down on her all she wants. Brooke used to burn with shame over people’s words, but she’s learned to let it push her instead of ruin her. She’s wrapped armor around her heart like she did around her body, and both will protect her from the queen’s disapproval. She straightens her back and puffs out her chest. She earned her win, and she won’t let anyone take it away. 

“I had other commitments, Your Majesty. But I think you’ll agree I won fairly,” Brooke says. The proper words she tries to use are twisted on her tongue, unfamiliar as a new food in her mouth, but if she has to fight for herself, she will. 

“Mother, we had open entry for the tournament, and she did win fairly. There’s no laws prohibiting women from being knights. I would be honored to have such a strong knight in my guard.” The princess’s voice is firm, filled with an awe that no one has ever used when speaking about Brooke. It’s the kind of awe commoners speak about the princess with, and Brooke’s cheeks blaze at the princess holding her in the same regard. 

“Very well, Vanessa.” The queen is unreadable, and as Vanessa rises, Brooke realizes they’re dismissed. They’re dismissed, and she isn’t in trouble. 

“Come with me, please,” Vanessa says to Brooke. 

Brooke leaps to her feet and exits as gracefully as she can with her left knee throbbing in pain. It’s nowhere near Vanessa’s easy grace, the way she glides across the floor and moves through the air like she’s weightless.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, is it?” Vanessa asks pleasantly. 

“J-just Brooke is fine. Your Majesty,” Brooke adds quickly. 

Vanessa waves her hand. “Don’t worry about that. Call me Vanessa.”

Another hallway opens in front of them, and another after that, with twists and turns along polished marble statues and gold-framed portraits and tapestries with silks so expensive the fabric shop in Brooke’s village stopped stocking it because no one could afford such finery. How could there be so many rooms in one place? What could you even do with them all? 

Vanessa smiles hesitantly. “It’s a lot, huh? Believe me, sometimes I still get lost in here. One time I walked in on the financial advisor in the washroom. That was quite a meeting.” The princess bounces with joy as she talks, letting out infectious giggles that put a smile on Brooke’s face without her lips’ awareness. 

They finally stop in front of a door. “I had a bath prepared for you,” the princess explains. 

Brooke stiffens. She should have never thought Vanessa was kind. She obviously thinks Brooke is just a dirty street rat, but Brooke can’t be mad because Vanessa isn’t wrong. 

“I thought you might like one after all that jousting. It was so hot out, I almost melted. Look at this _hair_.” Vanessa laughs, gesturing at the frizzy curls framing her face, and Brooke realizes that Vanessa _has_ done this out of kindness, so Brooke can be clean and comfortable. 

Brooke cracks a small smile. Maybe the princess really is nice. She stood up for Brooke in the council room, and there’s not even a hint of cruelty in her warm brown eyes. “Thank you.” She pauses as she realizes that the clothes beneath her armor are soaked through with sweat, and her spare set is still in the jousting tent. “Um, Your Majesty, I had a bag--”

“I had it brought up for you. I’ll be here when you’re done, and then we can have dinner.”

Brooke nods, stepping inside the room and gasping at the elephant-sized bathtub. Steam curls above the lemon-scented water and fogs the gold mirror on the wall. 

Brooke’s grateful for the fog as she sheds layers of steel and leather. Even with her height that towers over men and the muscles she got early from farm chores, the person underneath the armor is just too vulnerable, too unprotected. With her armor on, she’s in control, invincible, and she knows just what she has to do, knows she’ll win against whoever she’s fighting. She heard people calling her the Secret Knight as she left the arena, and she’d much rather be the Secret Knight than Brooke. 

Brooke is just a nobody, an orphan who cried every night her first week at the orphanage, fingers wanting her mother but meeting empty air. But the Secret Knight doesn’t cry, doesn’t let anything bother her or make her feel small. The Secret Knight fights bravely and wants to protect the princess, wants to be a hero like in the stories her mother used to tell her.

She touches the smooth gold ring hanging from her neck, her last piece of home. A way to hold on to what she had: hot, sticky summers on the farm, eating fresh bread dripping with warm honey as she fed the chickens and brushed the horses. 

_That’s gone now_ , she reminds herself. Patrick told her to remember where she came from, and she will, even though she's grateful she dug herself out of that place and never has to go back. 

She hisses with pain as her knee hits the air, swollen and bruised a brilliant purple. Nothing’s out of place, so she’ll manage. She’s learned to take pride in injuries, just like Patrick taught her, because they meant she was learning and fighting well.

The hot water soothes her battered muscles, takes away some of the ache deep in her bones. The tub is big enough for her to stretch out her long limbs and still not even touch the sides. She sinks below the water and lets the warm darkness rush over her like a blanket, enjoying every bit of heat. She wishes she could stay curled up under the water forever, in a warmth she would never lose, weightless and without worry, safe from the world. She stays under until her burning lungs force her to surface. 

Brooke scrubs her skin raw with a bar of soap, trying to erase every bit of muck and sweat. Her heart sinks when she looks at her hands, calluses rough on her fingers and palms, old white burn marks from forge metal dotting her wrists, the gray tinge to her fingertips and the dirt caked under her nails, the dust and grime of the streets laying claim to her no matter how hard she scrubs. Burnt fingers and dirty hands are a badge of honor at the forge, signs of a good job, but that pride in her work has no place here among the royals’ polished hands and manicured nails. 

She can layer on the lavender soap like icing on the chocolate cakes she could never afford, but what’s underneath will never be as sweet. 

She pulls on her spare set of clothes, black pants with only one patch and a flowy white shirt. Her best things, but nowhere near fit for dining with a princess. 

Vanessa smiles when she opens the door, and Brooke nervously returns the gesture. 

“Dinner’s set. You must be hungry. I know I am.”

Brooke is, her stomach hollow and rumbling now that the excitement of the tournament has passed. She didn’t even eat breakfast, giving her last apple to a young boy she saw on the way to the castle, and her mind is lost in food as they walk down the hall. 

Brooke gasps. 

The table overflows with food: crispy golden chicken beside steaming roast pork, bowls of colorful vegetables, crusty bread, and pitchers of gravy. Brooke’s stomach gives a renewed growl, but she almost loses her appetite at the golden plates and mound of silverware. She’s dining with a _princess_ , after all. Surely there’s rules to follow, and she knows none of them. 

There were different rules for eating in the streets. If there were people around, you had to eat as fast as possible so nobody stole your food. But if you were in private, your food kept secret, you had to make things last as long as possible. Brooke has lasted for days on a single piece of bread. There’s enough food here to get her through a month. 

Vanessa uses the smaller fork for vegetables, kindly meeting Brooke’s eye as she does. 

“So,” Vanessa begins, “Do you live in one of the villages?”

Brooke’s not sure if Vanessa’s asking out of curiosity, or if the queen’s suspicion has rubbed off on her, but Brooke has no idea how to speak with a princess and this seems the easiest route. 

“Yes, Your Majesty. In Greenville.”

Vanessa nods. “I’ve passed through a few times. I’ve never visited, though.”

Brooke shrugs around a mouthful of the best chicken she’s ever tasted. “Not much to visit.” She used to think the lush green fields and rusty red barn of her farm were the whole world, the only world she needed, with tomato vines reaching toward the sky and the bleating of sheep in her ears, all contained within an old wooden fence. It wasn’t until she was in the village properly, in a cold orphanage cot instead of her thick farmhouse blankets, dreaming of sparkling armor and a gleaming sword, that she realized how small her world really was. 

“Do you work there as well?”

“I work in a forge there, making weapons and armor. The owner used to be a swordsman. He trained me.”

“Well, he certainly did a good job,” Vanessa says with a grin. “I’ve never seen someone fight as well as you. You were incredible out there.”

Brooke’s face is on fire. She knows she’s an excellent knight--knows from Patrick taking her on at 13, from the reluctant praise she earned from him in her training, from finally beating him when they sparred. Without the advantages others have, she can’t afford to doubt her abilities, to doubt whether she’d win the tournament, and she doesn’t. She _knows_ how good she is, but to hear it from Vanessa, who’s grown up around knights and battles, means something else entirely. Of all the knights Vanessa has seen, she’s noticed Brooke, picked her out as the best one, and pride stirs happily in her stomach, bringing a smile to her face. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Brooke manages. 

The meal continues in a happy silence until Brooke is ready to burst, but then a servant brings in lemon cakes and she finds room for the tart sweetness. 

Vanessa takes a breath after the dishes are cleared. “Tomorrow you’ll meet with the guard. We have a feast for my birthday coming up, and they’ll prepare you for that. I’m planning to appoint you my personal guard, if that’s all right with you.” Her face is so hopeful that Brooke can’t deny her. It’s her duty to protect Vanessa, after all. 

“We should go to bed now,” Vanessa suggests.

Brooke rises with her, only to stagger as her bruised knee gives out. She just hopes Vanessa didn’t see. None of the knights in the stories ever let an injury stop them, and she doesn’t want there to be any reason why she can’t serve on the guard. 

“Are you hurt? You’re limping.” Vanessa’s voice radiates concern, her hand hovering near Brooke’s arm. The gesture makes Brooke smile a little, Vanessa being so concerned that she’d try to hold up someone nearly twice her size. 

“I’m fine.”

“Let me have the medic check you,” Vanessa offers. 

“I’m fine. You don’t have to do that. Please,” Brooke begs in a small voice. She’s never been to a medic before, and the idea of some stranger poking at her knee terrifies her, though she can’t admit that to the princess. Knights aren’t afraid of anything, and they saved people and won battles even when they were hurt. Brooke won't let a little bruise stop her from serving the kingdom. 

“How about if I look at it?” Vanessa asks quietly. “You shouldn’t be in pain.”

She’s sincere. Brooke can tell because of how rare sincerity is. Vanessa really doesn’t want her to be hurt, and Brooke thinks of what an odd princess she is. 

Brooke agrees, and Vanessa tells her to sit before leaving the room and returning with an ominous black bag that makes Brooke gulp in fear of what might be inside. She’s heard that medics have a lot of sharp instruments. But she’s stronger than fear. She’s a knight, after all. 

Vanessa takes the chair next to Brooke. “Put your leg in my lap,” she says. 

Brooke hesitates. She’s not sure how clean her pants are, and she doesn’t want to ruin Vanessa’s dress.

“Don’t worry about the dress. I hate this one anyway,” Vanessa says, like she’s reading her mind, and Brooke obeys, stomach fluttering as Vanessa rolls her pants up, exposing muscled skin dotted with bruises.

Vanessa’s expression is unreadable as she takes in the mess of blue and purple around Brooke’s knee, and Brooke keeps as still and stiff as a statue. It’s bad enough she’s letting the person she’s supposed to protect give her medical care. She won’t show any signs of pain on top of it.

“I’ll just put on some cream and bandage it.” Vanessa’s hands are soft and delicate as they rub cool white cream over Brooke’s knee, some of the pain easing at the touch. Brooke doesn’t know if the relief comes in the form of cream or Vanessa’s gentle touches, but she’s grateful for it either way. 

“All done. Does it feel any better?” 

“A lot better,” Brooke says truthfully. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Vanessa stands, gesturing for Brooke to follow. They walk down more halls, and Vanessa walks next to Brooke rather than in front, glancing over every few seconds like she’s expecting Brooke to fall. It’s strange to have the princess beside her like an equal, and even stranger to be on the receiving end of a worried gaze. It makes something twist in Brooke’s stomach, a fluttering sensation she’s unfamiliar with. 

“Here’s your room,” Vanessa says. “I had your stuff brought up.”

“Thank you.” 

“Of course. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Your M--Vanessa.” It’s the first time she’s said the princess’s name, and she likes the way it hangs in the air, the softness of it in her mouth, the way it brings a smile to Vanessa’s face. Somehow, it carries more power than Vanessa’s official title, making her not just a crown and a throne, but a real person with a real name that she probably got while squirming and crying in her mother’s arms. 

“Good night, Brooke.”

Yet again, Brooke finds her jaw dropping open when she steps inside. A sliver of moonlight shines through gold-framed windows, illuminating an enormous bed with roses carved into the polished wood bedposts. Thick white blankets are heaped on the bed, a cloud among the gleaming mirrors and oak wardrobe taller than her. Some part of her registers that this is just a spare bedroom, nowhere near as nice as the princess’s. 

She wrestles her boots off and tugs off her clothes and collapses into bed, wriggling under the covers with a sigh. She melts into the pillow and tugs the blankets up to her chin. It’s so quiet in here, a silence Brooke hasn’t had since the farm. There’s no horses whining in the night, or villagers shouting, or rickety carriages rumbling over dirt, carrying fancy goods most people couldn’t afford to fancy places most people would never see. 

But she made it. She got out of the dust and dirt that clouded her eyes and filled her lungs. She’s here now, full to bursting with pride and knowing she’ll prove herself tomorrow, the silence as pure and clean as the air around her. 

Brooke never thought she could sleep in such silence again, but she’s warm, with a full stomach and Vanessa’s smile to fill her mind, and she drifts off in seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke begins her training with the royal guard while Vanessa becomes curious about her new knight and their feelings start to grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback on the first chapter, both on here and on tumblr. It means more to me than I can say, but do know I really appreciate it. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and would any more feedback you have! Thank you times a million to Writ for betaing and Barbie for reading and supporting me, you're both amazing <3

Brooke wakes slowly, blinking through eyelids still heavy with exhaustion. Sunlight warms her face, and if the sun is up, she’s late for work. But the bed beneath her is so soft, much softer than her straw bed, and there’s no knot in her neck either, because she’s not in the stable. She is now the knight in the stories that made up the best years of her childhood. Brooke would curl up in her mother’s lap, clashing swords and trampled battlefields coming to life in the thrilling tales about brave knights slaying fearsome beasts and saving the princess, then living happily ever after. Brooke always knew she wanted to live happily ever after with a princess too. 

She would herd the sheep into their pen and pretend she was taming a dragon, protecting the villagers and the princess from harm. Once everyone was safe, Brooke and the princess would ride on her horse back to the castle, and Brooke would protect her and love her more than anyone as they chased their happily ever after. 

Happily ever after doesn't always exist for people like her, she knows that. Unlike knights and princes and princesses, who were born with an invisible quill weaving their beautiful story, people like Brooke got whatever was thrown at them. Brooke’s given up on letting it bother her. It’s just the way the world works, and life isn’t always happy for people like her. But Vanessa knocks on her door to bring her to breakfast, and Brooke looks around her room and takes one last peek at her armor and thinks maybe it could be this time.

\---

The breakfast laid out for them is almost as impressive as last night’s dinner, with Vanessa eager and cheerful across from her. Again, Brooke thinks of what an odd princess Vanessa makes--happily dining with a member of her guard, someone she didn’t need to interact with at all. Brooke’s questioning side wonders if it’s just an act to make sure Brooke stays here, but Brooke doesn’t think Vanessa would do that. Her kindness is just kindness, pure and never meant to harm. 

“Do you like bacon?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke nods, and Vanessa scoops some on her plate. 

“I like the crispy ones,” Vanessa continues.

Brooke smiles shyly. “Me too.” Her mother used to fry it over the fire while she swept the kitchen floor, and Brooke loved crunching on the almost-burnt edges formed by her mother’s distraction. 

“I have meetings with my mother this morning. One of my attendants will bring you to meet the guard. They’ll probably review things for the feast. Then you’ll be with me this afternoon.”

“Yes, Your Maj--Vanessa.” Brooke returns to her breakfast, trying to slow down her heart, racing like a horse in her chest at the thought of spending the afternoon with the princess.

Vanessa’s attendant Scarlet arrives, coppery hair swaying as she walks, and though she’s nice, Brooke can’t help but feel sad at leaving Vanessa, who will sit in meetings discussing things Brooke can’t even imagine. Brooke is much more suited to the flash of steel than the rustling of parchment. 

Scarlet takes her down to the grounds, twisting around the back of the castle to a private forge for fixing equipment while Scarlet points out the different buildings and their uses. Brooke feels a humming in her bones, like she’s finally come home. All the noble knights that protected kings and queens over the years had used these buildings, had probably loved the clang of steel and the squeak of polishing cloth over armor just like she does. This is where she belongs. 

A tall knight with gleaming blond hair awaits them at the gate. He’s the sort of man girls in Brooke’s village would giggle at when he walked by, though to Brooke he has a weasel’s eyes sunken in a face as bland as brick paste. 

“That’s Ron,” Scarlet whispers. “He’s captain of the guard. I wouldn’t get on his bad side if I were you.”

“Why not?” Brooke asks, but Scarlet introduces them and is on her way, some sort of protection going with her.

“So you’re the peasant girl the princess appointed,” Ron says. 

_The peasant girl_. The words roar in Brooke’s ears, echoing every mean thing people ever said to her, the doubts she learned to fight away. As if being those things makes her lesser, makes her undeserving. 

Brooke squares her shoulders. “I am.”

Ron gives her a look like he would melt her into the ground if he could. Brooke realizes with a jolt that he’s the knight she beat to win the tournament, and he’s clearly not happy with being defeated, let alone by a girl. Any bit of pride welling in her chest is crushed by the glares he shoots at her, daring her to say something as they head inside the armory to get ready. The other twelve knights await, and none of them are as regal as the knights in the stories. Instead, they stand around whispering and complaining to each other. Most of them are probably second or third or fourth sons of kings, Brooke figures, here to serve the princess because they have no shot at their own crown. They can’t all be like the knights in the stories, no matter how much she wishes they could. 

Brooke fastens her armor, the soothing routine not as calming when everyone’s eyes are on her, waiting for her to make a mistake that proves she doesn’t belong here, like they’re all thinking. She takes a slow breath and resumes the motions, as calm and cool as ever. They won’t get to her. 

Ron is still glaring when she’s done, and Scarlet’s words send a shiver down Brooke’s spine. “Is there a problem?” she asks. That’s all she gets out before Ron throws himself in her face. 

“The problem is you coming in here like you deserve it--”

“Are you saying I _don’t_ deserve it?” Brooke challenges. 

“You think you deserve to be one of us?” He sneers. “We’re _born_ into this. We train our whole lives with the greatest swordmasters in the kingdom. We get the support of kings before entering tournaments. We earn our titles. We don’t just walk in like _you_.” A glob of spit lands on her breastplate with the last word. 

Brooke’s skin steams with anger. None of them had earned things like she had. They had armor and swords handed to them, collected in piles so deep they’d never reach the bottom. But Brooke made all her own equipment. She had hammered down the steel of her leg guards until they fit like a second skin, had hovered over the iron mold breathlessly until she had a sword that was an extension of her arm. They were the first things that were truly _hers_ , made of her blood, sweat, tears, and hard work just as much as steel, and no one will take them from her. _You still won_ , she thinks. _You won on your own_. 

“I still won without all that, didn’t I?” Brooke says, relishing in the awestruck gasps and whispers that erupt. “Maybe that stuff’s not worth as much as you thought.”

Ron’s face turns red as the tomatoes that grew on Brooke’s farm. “You got lucky, girl. If we ever fight again, you won’t walk away in one piece. I promise you that.”

“I beat you once. I’ll do it again,” Brooke says, nudging past him. Making an enemy wasn’t part of her plan, but she can’t let anyone doubt whether she belongs here. She has to prove that she’s worthy, like she’s done her whole life. 

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of great hall layouts for the feast and fighting stances, and Brooke lets it all go. She’s a real knight now, with a place to store her equipment and a huge grassy yard to practice in. A real knight, far away from her gloomy village with all the people who doubted her. 

The sword dangling from her hip has never felt lighter. 

\---

“Vanessa, focus, please.”

Vanessa blushes at her mother’s voice, returning to plans for the feast with a chastened smile. Normally she can focus, but she can’t help it today. The council room overlooks the field where Scarlet leads Brooke to the armory, and her eyes are frozen toward the window. There’s something about how Brooke walks--not overly graceful, but steady and determined, confidence bursting from each stride of her long legs. 

That same confidence was in the firm set of her shoulders as she jousted yesterday, shoulders that slouch slightly when she thinks no one is looking, like they’ve been holding the world for a very long time and are desperate for any relief they can get. 

And something--maybe her shy smile, or her muscled arms, or her blushing cheeks paired with her fierceness in the arena--makes Vanessa want to help her get that relief. Her parents always told her to be kind to anyone no matter who they are or where they come from. It’s something that weighs in her mind more heavily these days, since next year she’ll be 18 and take the throne her father left behind. Brooke is a knight on her guard, and Vanessa is going to be kind regardless of the way her heart flutters at Brooke standing tall in her armor, a mysterious storybook knight come to life. 

There’s definitely a mystery to Brooke--how did she become so good at 17, when the most dangerous thing girls are allowed to hold is a sewing needle? What made her want to be a knight? There’s a story in those green eyes and polished armor, and it makes Vanessa want to get to know Brooke, maybe let Brooke know her as well.

Her mother clears her throat, and Vanessa realizes she lost focus again. She sits up straighter, the afternoon’s promise of exploring the city with Brooke pushed to the back of her mind. 

\---

Brooke knows she and Vanessa visiting the city alone is a test from the queen to see what Brooke is made of, and even though she wants to enjoy herself, take in the vendors and people buzzing about, she can’t drop her guard. If anything happens to the princess, Brooke’s position is gone before her official knighting ceremony. 

The city market is huge. Brooke remembers marveling over the size of the jousting arena, but that would easily fit inside here and still leave room. Everywhere she looks, there’s someone buying food or jewelry or fabrics from a bright tent, the sun glinting off their gold as they haggle the price. All Brooke’s wages from the forge went toward paying off her equipment, and she wonders what it will be like to have coins jangle as she walks, the promise of buying whatever she wants with her own money. She hopes the queen gives her the gold she won soon. 

There’s so many people milling about, most concerned with the vendors, that no one notices them or seems to care, but Brooke still keeps a hand near her sword hilt, body curving toward Vanessa to take a protective angle if needed, a strategy she learned this morning. Vanessa smells like lemons, like cold, puckery lemonade cooling her off after brushing horses in the summer sun, and Brooke unconsciously curves in a little more. 

Vanessa stops by one vendor selling golden brown cakes. “They’re little cinnamon cakes with apples and nuts inside. They’re delicious,” Vanessa says. “Have you ever tried one?”

“No.” Brooke barely has the word out before Vanessa is marching to the vendor and buying two cakes, eagerly passing one to Brooke. 

“T-thank you, Vanessa.”

“Of course.”

Vanessa watches her with excited eyes as she takes a bite, like she wants to make sure Brooke likes it, make sure she’s happy. 

Brooke grins through rich cake and sweet apples. “It’s really good.”

Vanessa claps her hands. “I told you!”

“Is this what you normally do during the day?” Brooke asks as they walk past more stands, preparing to plan for possible threats. 

Vanessa nods. “I do meetings and lessons every morning, and in the afternoons I visit the city or paint.”

“You paint?”

Vanessa nods in excitement. Her face glows and she appears even younger than her almost-seventeen years, happy just to talk about her art with someone. “Trees are my favorite! I’ll have to show you the ones by the castle. They’re prettiest now, in autumn. I do some embroidery too.” Vanessa pauses. “Do you like to paint or anything?”

Brooke shakes her head. Paints and brushes were a delicacy unheard of in Greenville. She’d tried to paint a horse with old supplies she found at the orphanage, but the paint was gloopy and the horse looked like a fat bear, and the paper got crumpled so Brooke’s failure couldn’t mock her. Painting always seemed like something only princesses could do. “Not really. I’m not that good at art stuff.”

“You make swords, though,” Vanessa insists. “You create something. That’s an art, isn’t it?”

Brooke’s never thought of it that way, but there _is_ an art to it, she supposes. Patrick chiseled the molds, birthing delicate lions and wolves out of hard iron to decorate sword hilts. Brooke learned early on the steel had to be heated exactly, perfectly mixed like paints, everything poured into the mold--a canvas of sorts--without hesitation or error. Maybe art doesn’t only exist on a canvas, or in the hands of princesses.

“I guess it is,” Brooke agrees, taking the last bite of her cake. 

They continue through the market unnoticed, and Brooke has never had a day like this, walking around with someone so freely, not sore from working or plotting which cart to steal an apple from while her mouth watered over sweet cakes, and she finds her hand drifting farther and farther from her sword. 

\---

“There’s going to be 150 guests for the princess’s birthday feast this Saturday,” Ron booms. “We’ll have guards at the hall entrance and along the tables. See me after training for your position.”

150 guests for a feast. Brooke can’t get the number out of her head as they train in the sun-baked courtyard, an autumn breeze keeping her cool. 150 is nothing compared to the amount of people that saw her joust, but it’s still a lot to keep track of. But she wouldn’t be a knight if she couldn’t take the challenge, and she’s eager for something to prove herself with. 

Ron tells her that she’ll be sitting with the princess and queen on Vanessa’s orders, and Brooke can’t hide her grin. Of all the knights, Vanessa chose Brooke to be beside her, chose Brooke as the knight she most wanted to protect her. 

“Wipe that smile off your face. You need to familiarize yourself with the guest list and seating arrangements. If a peasant girl like you can, of course,” Ron snickers as he walks away, like he knows the paper he’s given her is deadlier than any sword. 

Brooke’s heart sinks to her stomach as she returns to the castle, waiting until she’s safely by her room to peek at the list and let her fear show. Shame bubbles in her chest and panic claws at her throat, stealing all the castle’s air. The other knights could read without a problem, but hardly anyone in her village could read. The stories Brooke’s mother told her had been passed down through the generations, at their best on cold nights with a fire crackling. The orphanage had too many children to wrangle to worry about teaching, and reading remained something only the nobility could do. 

Brooke can pick out the letters in her name, like those little circles that mean O, but the rest might as well be another language. How could she follow her orders and protect all the guests if she didn’t know their names or where they were sitting? How can she call herself a knight if she can’t do her duty?

She sets the paper down before she tears it in frustration. Though that might be better than telling the guards she doesn’t know how to read. They already think she’s unworthy; if she tells them she can’t read, it’ll only be further proof that she’s inferior, and she can’t let them see such weakness. She can just picture how Ron will sneer at her, lobbing insults her armor might not be able to deflect—

“What’s that?” Vanessa asks. Brooke jumps, so lost in misery she didn’t even hear Vanessa coming. 

“Nothing,” Brooke says quickly. Vanessa could read and write and probably add up numbers too. She’d surely laugh at Brooke if she knew it took her a week of practice just to write her own name on the tournament entry list, with a child’s shaky scribbles, because she insisted on doing it herself. 

“It looks like the guest list for the feast.”

“It is, but…”

“What is it?” Vanessa’s tone is gentle, eyes wondering what’s wrong, and telling her has to be a lesser evil than telling the whole guard. Vanessa has been nothing but kind to her, and maybe she won’t even laugh. 

“I don’t...I can’t read very well,” Brooke chokes out, because that sounds better than saying she can’t read at all, eases the shame just a bit. A smaller hit to her pride somehow. Vanessa’s eyes widen and Brooke looks down at her feet, cheeks on fire. 

“Do you want me to help you?” Vanessa asks softly. There’s no pity in her eyes, nothing but pure kindness and a desire to help. Vanessa truly is the strangest princess Brooke’s ever heard of, offering to help her read, giving away some of her power--Brooke has learned reading is a form of power--and letting Brooke have it, when no one ever cares if peasants could read. 

Brooke can’t see any other choice, so she follows Vanessa into her bedroom, too stunned to notice how extravagant Vanessa’s room is as they sit at a small table in the corner. Vanessa pulls out paper and quickly writes down a bunch of letters, her quill looping across the page like a dance. “This is the alphabet,” Vanessa explains. “The first letter is an A. It looks like an arrow tip, if that helps. A for arrow. The second letter--”

“I know that one!” Brooke says quickly.

Vanessa grins. “That’s right. B for Brooke.” She nudges a little closer, running through each letter and helping Brooke twist her mouth this way and that to make the correct sound for them all, then turning the letters into words and names. Brooke doesn’t even notice that their arms are touching until they’ve finished the guest list entirely.

\---

The feast preparation is in full swing Tuesday afternoon, with dishes being polished and plates arranged, and Vanessa heads to the city with Brooke to avoid getting trampled by attendants carrying gold forks. 

Most of the guards dragged their feet through the city with her, not impressed by the treats or clothes, but Brooke seemed to enjoy it their first day. She’s from Greenville, Vanessa remembers, which isn’t so much a town as it is a road through a town, and she likes watching Brooke smile when she tries a new food. None of the other guards cared for what they called “street treats” with disdain, having grown up with private chefs in their father’s castles. Ron was the worst to visit with, huffing every time Vanessa said she wasn’t ready to leave and insisting the marketplace was beneath them. But Vanessa’s father always said nothing is beneath her, that she’s no better than others because of her title, and getting to see so many people come together in one place is her favorite thing.

Her father had loved the marketplace. He took her from when she was a little girl, telling her things about the world she didn’t understand then, wanting just to eat cookies and pick out a new toy, but knows now. Things that will help her be the best ruler she can.

She practically runs from the carriage with Brooke at her side, and the marketplace spreads before them like a jewel. She pulls Brooke over to a vendor selling hats and shoves a sickly green bonnet covered in roses on her head. 

“What do you think?” 

Brooke snorts with laughter, her edges softening before Vanessa’s eyes. “Not bad. I think you need...this one.” Brooke replaces the green with a square hat whose orange tassels hang in Vanessa’s face. 

Vanessa tears it off with a grin. She’s about to go for a pink bonnet when the aroma of fruit slips over them. 

“Want to get something to eat?” Vanessa asks. 

“I don’t have any money,” Brooke says quietly. 

Vanessa frowns. “Did my mother not give you your winnings yet?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Vanessa frowns deeper at Brooke using her title, heaping it on like she’s lesser than Vanessa, like she doesn’t deserve to use Vanessa’s real name. And her mother--Vanessa knows she isn’t thrilled about having a non-noble be on the guard, but she trusted Vanessa’s judgment and agreed that Brooke is a good knight. She should have given Brooke her gold by now.

“I’ll talk to her, all right? She’s just been focused on my birthday and everything.” Brooke nods, and Vanessa smiles. “Now, let’s go. I’ll buy you anything you want.”

Five minutes later, she and Brooke traipse through pottery vendors with their fruit hand-pies. 

“Do you know what my father used to do with these?” Vanessa asks. She’s not sure why she’s bringing it up, but she knows Brooke is a good listener and will be more interested than the other knights. 

“What?”

“He would break his pie in half, and I’d break mine in half, and we’d swap. Then we had half of each pie.” Vanessa laughs. “I think he did it because he knew I could never pick one and liked to have different flavors.” She breaks her peach hand-pie in half, holding it out to Brooke like a test. Brooke splits her strawberry one and the swap takes place, two halves making one unique whole that Vanessa eats happily. 

“Your father sounded like a good man,” Brooke says hesitantly, leaving her words hanging like it’s up to Vanessa whether to take the thread or not. 

“He was,” Vanessa says finally. “He was nice to everyone. He really cared about people, you know?”

Brooke nods, and Vanessa is about to ask about her family when shouts erupt from deeper in the marketplace, people running after the commotion. It’s probably some kind of fight--people jealous of a former lover, or a vendor catching someone stealing. It’s not uncommon to see people fleeing the square with bloodstained clothes and the slumped shoulders of defeat. It happens almost everyday in such a large city, but Brooke doesn’t know that, and quickly moves Vanessa against the brick of a building.

“Stay behind me!” Brooke’s voice is firm and confident, her stance solid and every inch the bold storybook knight who slays dragons. Vanessa can’t help but marvel at the muscles rippling in her shoulders, the way her whole body curves around Vanessa to shield her, taking the impact of people sprinting by to see the fight and place bets--anything can turn a profit in the marketplace--so none of them hit Vanessa. 

“Brooke, it’s all right,” Vanessa says once the shouts die down. “It’s just a fight. They happen a lot here.”

“Are you sure? You’re not hurt, are you?” Brooke’s eyes are focused intently on her, scanning her body for any injuries. 

“I’m fine. Thank you, Brooke. You were really brave, protecting me like that.”

Brooke’s cheeks flush as red as her strawberry pie. “Of course.” She nods toward the cobblestone streets. “Shall we?”

They walk back into the market, and Vanessa is still in awe at how fast Brooke moved to protect her. Of course the other knights protect her--Vanessa knows she’s safe with them--but there’s something about Brooke’s focus, her intense concern on keeping Vanessa safe with everything she had. 

Brooke was just doing her job, Vanessa tells herself. All the knights would have done the same, with punishment of death looming if they didn’t. Sometimes Vanessa wonders whether the other knights act out of their oath to her or out of fear of punishment, but Brooke hadn’t hesitated for even a second, like she had acted solely to keep Vanessa safe than out of any other reason. 

_She was just doing her job_ , Vanessa thinks. 

But her heart doesn’t want to listen. 

\---

Vanessa is waiting outside Brooke’s room when she returns from her afternoon shift guarding the main gate, bouncing up and down on her feet, face so flushed and nervous that Brooke forgets the cramping in her hands from polishing armor. 

“Vanessa?” Brooke prompts. 

“I, um, I did some painting today. Do you want to see?” Vanessa rubs at her neck, and Brooke’s eyes stray to her hands. Vanessa has beautiful hands, soft and smooth and delicate. Those hands wrote out the alphabet for her and pointed to each letter with confidence and grace, and Brooke can easily imagine them holding a paintbrush, turning colors on a pallet into something beautiful.

“Of course I do,” Brooke says. Vanessa sighs in relief, her steps a little uneasy as they enter her room, and Brooke can’t imagine why Vanessa would be nervous about showing Brooke her paintings. Vanessa didn’t even bat an eyelash during the fight in the city, and her hesitation now makes Brooke want to curl her body around her and keep her safe. 

The easel in the corner steals her breath. The trees with their orange-gold leaves look as realistic as the ones outside Vanessa’s window, conjuring up memories of autumns on the farm, chilly, wet leaves sticking to Brooke after hours of jumping in the piles as tall as mountains, the sizzle of her mother frying potatoes over the stove, the tall apple trees by the barn blooming with ripe red fruit.

“It’s beautiful,” Brooke says. “You’re an amazing painter.” She has to resist the urge to reach into the painting and pluck out a leaf. 

“It’s strange to show someone for the first time,” Vanessa says. “My mother has seen them all, but you haven’t.”

“I know what you mean,” Brooke says. “When Patrick--he’s the forge owner--checked the first sword I made, it was...scary,” she finishes lamely, not having words for the way she held her breath as he inspected each inch of the sword, her entire future contained in three feet of steel, wondering if he’d find a flaw that would cost her the job and everything she was working for. “Sorry, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It is scary,” Vanessa agrees. “Like you’re showing someone part of you, and if they don’t like it, it feels as though they don’t like you.”

Brooke nods solemnly, and as Vanessa points out some of the details on the canvas, Brooke sees a dot of orange paint along her finger. Just a tiny smudge, barely noticeable unless you looked, but it tugs something in Brooke’s heart. It matches the polishing liquid staining Brooke’s fingers, and it’s something else to connect them. She and Vanessa, both with hands stained from a day’s work, who know what it’s like to stand over something and watch it become something more, become art. 

Brooke points to the canvas. “Will you tell me about it?”

Vanessa claps her hand in excitement, like she hasn’t had someone to talk about art with in a while, and though Brooke doesn’t know all the techniques she mentions, she knows that Vanessa has shown Brooke a very secret part of her, and Brooke likes that part very much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke faces new challenges from the guard while she and Vanessa grow closer and their feelings start to bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback you've been giving this fic! It really does mean a lot to me that you're all enjoying it, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much to Writ for betaing and helping me clean this chapter up, and thank you to Barbie for all your support and love (and screaming) on this chapter!

Vanessa dreams that she’s falling. 

It’s a dream she’d had often as a little girl, sniffling as her tiny feet scampered across the cold stone floor to crawl into her parents’ bed. She’d snuggle between them and fall asleep in minutes, the dream banished with nothing left but half-forgotten images and dried tears.

It returned after her father died, when Vanessa would wake in a cold sweat and tell herself she was too old to bother her mother with nightmares. 

The dream is always the same. She’s falling through the sky, hands reaching for something, _anything_ , to hold onto, but there’s only emptiness. She’s alone, and that scares her more than anything. She’s always had someone beside her: parents, attendants, tutors, royal visitors, people in the market. She’s not meant for such emptiness, and her heart pounds as she hurtles faster and faster through the trees and toward the grass, waking just before she slams into the ground. 

Tonight’s dream is no exception: the trees, the grass, the emptiness. But in the forest is a tall knight in gleaming armor, and Vanessa knows if the knight can get close enough, they’ll catch Vanessa before she crashes--

The knight tries, but can’t make it, and Vanessa shoots up in bed with her chest heaving, sweat prickling at her neck. She takes deep breaths, in and out, just like her father told her to do when she was scared. She imagines his soothing voice in her ear, and the dream fades--except for that knight. It was undoubtedly Brooke, and Vanessa’s heart speeds up again, wondering what prompted the dream, and why Brooke’s part in it won’t fade. 

She takes some more breaths and rolls over, and though her empty bed has never bothered her, she wishes Brooke was here to fill it. 

\---

Vanessa marches into her mother’s office first thing in the morning. 

“Why haven’t you given Brooke her gold yet?” She tries to sound curious and not accusatory, but her mother’s pursed lips hint that she’s on to her. 

“I must have forgotten.” She calmly hands a purple velvet bag to Vanessa, and maybe Vanessa should believe her, but her mother doesn’t forget _anything_ \--not even the time Vanessa tried to kiss a frog when she was four (she wanted to see if it would turn into a prince or princess for her to live happily ever after with, like in the stories).

“Why don’t you like Brooke?” Vanessa demands, casual plans gone.

Her mother sighs. “It’s not that I don’t like her, Vanessa. I’m just worried. Her entering the tournament and being that good, with no connections to our allies...I wanted to be cautious, to protect us.” Her concerned eyes meet Vanessa’s, and she knows her mother is telling the truth. 

“We can trust Brooke. I know we can.” Even though Vanessa doesn’t know much about Brooke yet, she can’t stop thinking of how selfless she was in the market, and she knows Brooke would never cause her harm. 

“Your judgment is usually right,” her mother says, and Vanessa beams at the praise.

“Does that mean you’ll take cabbage off the feast menu? Because my judgement on that being gross is probably right too.”

Her mother laughs, a sound Vanessa heard more often when her father was around. It’s nice to be the one causing it now, to pretend things haven’t changed. 

“And Brooke’s knighting ceremony?” she prompts, since she’s on a roll. 

“We’ll have it after your birthday,” her mother promises. 

“Good.” 

“Speaking of your birthday…”

“Yes?”

Her mother pauses. “I’m fine with Brooke sitting at our table for the feast, but she’ll need something more formal to wear.”

Vanessa sighs. She knew this was coming. She doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with the black pants and simple shirts Brooke wears, but they won’t do in front of so many nobles. “I know.”

She takes her leave and heads to Brooke’s room.

\---

The promises contained inside the velvet bag in Brooke’s hand outweigh any sword. All that gold is hers, to buy whatever she likes with--sweet cakes or new boots or anything under a market tent. 

“Thank you, Vanessa,” Brooke says. She tries to stay calm, as if she handles this much money every day, but her smile breaks through from the sheer relief of never having to steal food again, of being able to buy new clothes that won’t leave her shivering in the snow. 

“Don’t thank me, you won it.” 

“Maybe I’ll buy one of those hats,” Brooke says.

“Only if it has tassels,” Vanessa says.

“Maybe stripes. Or roses.” Brooke grins, but Vanessa doesn’t. Instead, she bites her lip, eyes roaming over Brooke’s body and making Brooke’s stomach stir. She’s never weakened under a stare before, but Vanessa’s gaze turns Brooke’s knees to jelly. 

Vanessa sighs. “I was thinking...if it’s not too forward of me, maybe I could have A’keria--she makes my dresses--make you something for the feast?”

Brooke knows her clothes aren’t good enough to wear in front of all the fancy guests. But she also knows from Vanessa’s hesitation, from the apology in her eyes, that Vanessa hates asking this of her, and Brooke forces away any embarrassment and agrees to avoid trouble.

“All right. But, um, I don’t really like wearing…” Brooke gestures at Vanessa’s sweeping yellow dress. Dresses look beautiful on Vanessa, and Brooke has nothing against them, but she can’t imagine being trapped in one when she’s worn pants for so long. In Greenville, she had to make do with whatever clothing she could find, and men’s pants fit her tall frame much easier than dresses. She could move fast and free in the forge, no worries about a dress getting caught. And with her height and short hair, pants helped her pass for a man at a distance, and she was all the safer for it. Any number of horrible things could happen to a girl on her own, but a man wouldn’t be bothered. 

“She can make you pants,” Vanessa says in reassurance. “I’d never make you wear anything you didn’t like.”

Vanessa leads them to a room that’s more like an exploded wardrobe, with dresses and shoes and fabric scraps strewn all over the place.

A woman Brooke figures is A’keria runs to Vanessa and hugs her, chattering about her dress and herding Vanessa behind a curtain to try it on.

“You’re the Secret Knight everyone’s talking about,” A’keria says to Brooke. 

After her jousting performance, the whole kingdom is probably talking about her, and Brooke smiles. “I am.”

“I heard you stood up to Ron the other day,” A’Keria continues. Brooke nods, and A’keria grins. “Good. You know how many capes I’ve had to remake him because he said they weren’t good enough?” She shakes her head bitterly. “But getting on his bad side...you’re either really brave or really stupid.” 

“Probably both,” Brooke admits. 

A’keria winks at her as Vanessa emerges in a gorgeous deep purple dress embroidered with golden roses, climbing up on a wooden stand and gesturing for A’keria’s help. 

“Make sure you watch that needle,” Vanessa warns. 

“ _One time!_ ” A’keria huffs. “ _One time_ I pinched you with the needle and I haven’t heard the end of it.”

“It was one time too many.”

“If you could stay still.” A’keria finishes the laces and turns Vanessa around to face Brooke.

Brooke finds all the breath knocked out of her, as if she’d just fallen off a horse. The dress’ purple hue blooms against Vanessa’s soft skin, the roses making her wavy hair shine. She smiles and twirls around in the mirror, and Brooke imagines Vanessa twirling on a dance floor, maybe with her hand in Brooke’s--

But that’s ridiculous. Vanessa is a princess and Brooke is just a peasant in armor. Vanessa is smart and funny and kind, making paint look more real than nature, and Brooke is good with a sword and struggling her way through the alphabet (why did the E and F have to look so similar?). There’s no way they could ever dance together. 

But Brooke’s heart has never been so fluttery and the air has never shimmered like when she’s with Vanessa. She’s never met anyone as kind, never met anyone who makes her laugh like Vanessa does. 

“Do you like it, Brooke?” Vanessa asks hopefully, and Brooke can’t believe Vanessa’s asking _her_ , that she wants to know--and _cares_ \--what Brooke thinks, and it warms her heart. 

“It’s perfect on you.”

Brooke offers her hand to help Vanessa down from the pedestal, and Brooke sees stars when Vanessa’s hand slips into hers. The room is suddenly hotter than the forge in the middle of summer, with a burning warmth spreading through Brooke’s arm. Vanessa’s eyes meet hers, as awestruck as when Brooke took her helmet off.

Even as A’keria measures Brooke for new pants, she can’t stop picturing Vanessa’s hand in hers.

\--- 

“I hope you like staying up all night, peasant girl,” Ron taunts, “Because you’re on night guard with Will and George tonight. You’ll take the princess’s wing of the castle.” 

The other knights laugh under their breaths, and Brooke knows they couldn’t wait to give her overnight watch, sparing themselves from the worst job. 

“No problem,” Brooke says. “Catch up on your beauty rest tonight.”

Ron sputters as the knights snicker, and Will even gives her an approving nod. Brooke feels herself creeping closer and closer into their circle, to earning a place at their table without them pulling the chair from under her, and she dashes out of the armory on her high note.

\---

Vanessa awaits in her doorway, stack of paper at her feet, when Brooke arrives for night duty. 

“You got night duty, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let them get to you,” Vanessa says. “The guards always stick the new person on it to mess with them.”

“I’m fine. It’ll take a lot more than them to get to me.” Brooke smiles. “Anyway, Ron’s probably thrilled he has extra time to comb his hair.”

Vanessa cackles. “He does love his hair, doesn’t he? And it’s not even that nice! It looks like a mop. It’s a wonder his helmet fits over it.”

Brooke laughs with her, trading crinkly-eyed smiles that make her heart soar. They slip into an easy silence, watching the moon shine through the window. It lightens Vanessa’s hair, brings a childlike wonder to her face, and Brooke would be happy to stand here all night with her. 

“Maybe we could practice reading some more?” Vanessa suggests after a few minutes. “Night guard can be scary when you’re alone.”

“Are you sure?” Brooke can’t hide her surprise at Vanessa sacrificing sleep just to stay with her, make sure she’s all right. “You don’t have to stay up with me if you’d rather sleep.”

“I’m sure. I’m usually up anyway. Sometimes I try to paint the moon. It’s so pretty late at night, like a giant pearl. And it makes the trees glow.”

Brooke nods. “I like the trees here,” she says quietly. “There were big apple trees where I grew up, and when the branches fell, I’d pretend they were swords.” She doesn’t mean for the story to come out, but maybe the moon, or Vanessa, draws it from her like water from a closed-off stream. 

“That’s sweet.” Vanessa’s eyes shine with warmth. “I guess you always wanted to be a knight?”

Brooke nods. “My mother used to tell me stories about them. I wanted to be just like them, brave and loyal and strong. She called me her little knight.”

“Does she know you’re a knight now?”

“No.” Brooke hopes her tone tells Vanessa that’s all she’ll say about it, because what else is there to say? The past is the past, and she’s moved on from it. 

Vanessa bites her lip, but she doesn’t pry. Instead she turns to her papers. Brooke recognizes almost all the letters printed on them, and might even be able to form words. Vanessa took the time to write all these words just for her to practice with, and even though writing isn’t a big deal to Vanessa, it’s one of the kindest things Brooke has ever had done for her. 

“Thank you,” Brooke whispers as Vanessa helps her sound out each word, and from her smile, Brooke thinks she knows how much it means.

\--- 

Vanessa’s head almost falls into her eggs at breakfast. She’d stayed up too late practicing reading with Brooke, and Vanessa was so proud of Brooke for getting most of the words right, for beaming when she did well, that she didn’t want the night to end. Not to mention it was a better alternative to falling asleep and having that nightmare again. The few hours of sleep she managed were calm and peaceful, and the relief is worth the exhaustion. 

“Do you want to go riding this afternoon?” Vanessa asks Brooke. “I haven’t been in so long.”

“You’re sure? It’ll be real hot later.”

“I’m sure.”

She hasn’t ridden a horse in years. Her father used to help her climb on, and they’d ride into the woods together. She would talk about her day and he would listen, and nothing spoken in those woods ever left, the trees keeping it all locked safely inside like a cocoon. It was when Vanessa felt most like herself, felt most loved and most secure to share things she wouldn’t otherwise. She’s hoping the comfort and familiarity will help her get to know Brooke better, maybe bring forth whatever made Brooke so flat and emotionless about her mother last night. And maybe, just maybe, it will help Vanessa sort out what to do with how happy she gets around Brooke. 

No one has ever made her feel so at ease, so comfortable after only a few days, and she likes being with someone so _different_. The truth is, as much as tries to be fair toward others, she’s never had a chance to be friends with someone who isn’t like her--someone who didn’t eat with a golden spoon since childhood, someone who didn’t get lost in their house, someone who knows what it’s like beyond the castle walls. It’s nice to be around someone less entitled than nobles she’s met, someone who makes art out of swords and treats her with genuine kindness and enjoys Vanessa for the person she is, not just the princess. 

She runs to the stables with Brooke, already regretting her heavy riding clothes in this heat. Summer didn’t want to let go this year, October sun shining with July’s ferocity, baking Vanessa under its glow. Brooke has her sleeves rolled past her elbows, and Vanessa can’t look away from the muscles curving under her skin. She never knew forearms could be so strong, radiating power down into Brooke’s hands.

She desperately fans herself while Brooke gathers her horse. Snowball is as soft and white as her namesake, and even bigger up close, her saddle sitting at Vanessa’s forehead. “I need help.” 

Brooke snorts. “Maybe a pony would be a better fit,” she teases, boosting Vanessa into the saddle. Vanessa burns even hotter at having Brooke this close, her touch steadying even through Vanessa’s layers. 

“I don’t need a _pony_ ,” Vanessa insists. “Your horse is just too tall.”

“She’s just right.” Brooke easily slides into the stirrup, swinging her leg over and nestling behind Vanessa. 

“Showoff,” Vanessa teases. Brooke’s heart thrums gently against Vanessa’s back, her arms warm against Vanessa’s sides as she takes the reins. 

The sun smothers Vanessa with heat. Sweat trails tiny rivers down her neck, but Brooke is behind her, steering the horse with confidence, and Vanessa closes her eyes and enjoys the ride. 

\---

“Can Snowball ride like the wind?” Vanessa asks as they trot along. 

“Yes,” Brooke giggles, “but why?”

Vanessa shrugs. “I just always wanted to tell a horse to ride like the wind.” They both burst into laughter, Brooke tightening her hold to keep Vanessa steady, her body warm like a hearth against Brooke. The clearing opens up beneath a canopy of trees, and Brooke helps Vanessa down, securing Snowball’s reins to the tree and setting up their blanket. 

Vanessa takes a step and stumbles, one hand flying to her head and the other grabbing Brooke’s arm for support.

“Vanessa--”

“I’m just a little dizzy from the heat,” Vanessa says. “I’ll feel better once I sit.”

Brooke nods, easing Vanessa onto the blanket and giving her water from a jug. It is hot today, the searing heat of summer, and Brooke’s grateful for her thin clothes. 

“You learned to ride from your swordmaster, right?”

“Yes,” Brooke says as she sits down beside Vanessa. 

“How did you start working there? Sorry, I’m just curious,” Vanessa amends quickly. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Brooke pauses. The past is gone. It’s something she tries not to think of, something she tries to leave behind her.

But Vanessa radiates curiosity, and Brooke knows she can trust her. “It’s all right. My father passed before I was born, I never knew him. My mother and I ran the farm together. She did the crops and I took care of the animals.” Brooke rattles it off, trying to keep all of it--how it looked like the apple trees were waving at her in the early-morning mist, how she and her mother spoke with smiles and glances over breakfast, how the sheep bleated happily when Brooke came to feed them, burying her fingers in their fuzzy wool--out of her voice. 

Vanessa smiles, motioning for her to continue.

“Then she got sick…” Brooke locks eyes with Vanessa and knows she understands what Brooke can’t speak. “I ended up in an orphanage after. It wasn’t a bad place, but there were too many kids and not enough money to run it. And I promised myself I would become a knight no matter what it took. I would be brave and loyal and strong and keep people safe. So I ran away from the orphanage when I was 13, started training with Patrick, and now I’m here.”

If only a sword and shield could have kept her mother safe from the illness that made her cough so harshly, kept those solicitors from claiming the farm and sending her to the orphanage, with nothing but her mother’s wedding ring—the ring currently hanging from Brooke’s neck—to remember her old life. But she fulfilled her promise, and she’s here to protect Vanessa, protect herself from those old memories. 

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Vanessa says quietly. Her eyes glisten with the tears of someone who knows that pain, knows what it’s like to fight against it every day, whether she shows it or not. 

“It’s all right. I’m fine.” 

“You don’t always have to be fine, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...like your knee the other day. It must have been hurting you, but you said it wasn’t. You can be sad or hurt and not have to hide it. It doesn’t make you any less of a knight.” 

Brooke tries to make sense of Vanessa’s words. There wasn’t time for grief or sorrow after her mother died, no one to dry her tears. Brooke dried them herself and moved on, lived through her years in the orphanage, the endless hours training and working, all to become the knight she dreamed of being. Knights are never weak. Even when they’re hurt, they never let it show, still saving the village and protecting people. Then again, none of the knights on the guard are like the ones in the stories, disrespecting her and dishonoring their position. Maybe all she can do is let the knight she is now protect the child she once was, let them live in harmony. 

“I just--it hurts sometimes, but I don’t let it stop me. I have to keep moving.” She couldn’t have gotten this far otherwise. 

“I know the feeling. Sometimes it really hurts without my father, but it hurts less when I stay busy, or I’m with someone. I don’t like to be alone.” Vanessa’s shoulders droop, and she’s suddenly younger and smaller than Brooke has seen her. She wishes she could lighten Vanessa’s burdens for her, carry them on her own shoulders so Vanessa didn’t have to live under the strain. “But sometimes you need to rest. Be with people and let them help.” 

Maybe someday we can rest together, Brooke thinks. But she doesn’t say it. Instead, she slides in closer until their shoulders touch, and the heat coming off Vanessa sears Brooke’s arm even through their layers. 

“Vanessa, are you all right? You’re really warm.”

“I’m fine.” Her flaming cheeks darken at her words, realizing she’s gone against her own advice. “I know what we just said, but I really am f-fine.” She looks around slowly, glassy eyes widening like she doesn’t know where they are. 

“Maybe we should go back,” Brooke suggests. 

“But we’re hav-having so much...fun, talking about...about...” Vanessa blinks wildly, trying to stay awake. 

“Vanessa?” 

“Brooke, I...I don’t feel so well.” Vanessa’s eyes flutter shut and she faints into Brooke’s shoulder. 

Brooke scoops Vanessa into her arms and jumps on Snowball. 

Vanessa is limp in Brooke’s grasp, skin on fire and breaths shallow, and Brooke’s heart might burst out of her chest. She can’t let anything happen to Vanessa, she has to protect her—

“Don’t worry, Vanessa. I’ve got you, I promise.” 

Snowball rides like the wind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke accepts her feelings for Vanessa while waiting to see if she's okay, and one final threat emerges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the last chapter is here already! I had a lot of fun with this one and I really hope you all enjoyed it too! Thank you as always to Writ, for betaing and brainstorming and just being amazing. Also thank you to Barbie for supporting this the whole way and hyping me up with your comments! You both helped so much with this. 
> 
> I really hope you like this last chapter, and I'd really appreciate any feedback you have for it!

Brooke paces the floor, nothing but her thoughts for company. 

An hour ago—or was it two? She’s lost track of time—she’d sprinted into the castle with Vanessa in her arms. Scarlet had run for the medic, the queen appeared, and they’d taken Vanessa away from her. 

Her forearms ache with emptiness and still sting with heat from Vanessa’s body. Brooke had gotten sick last winter, sweating so much she thought the stable was on fire, but Vanessa felt even warmer than that. Scarlet had mentioned sunstroke before going to help the medic, and Brooke hopes she’s right, hopes the medic can fix it.

Because she can’t stop pacing until someone tells her Vanessa is all right. 

Her mother had always said she was impatient. She would move Brooke away from the wood stove so she didn’t get burned waiting for bread to hurry up and bake, then soothe her scorched tongue with cold water after Brooke’s eager bites; would tell her that staring at the grass wouldn’t make flowers grow faster. Brooke was always ready, stuck waiting for the world to catch up. 

She had to learn patience while stuck in the orphanage with all those noisy kids, planning her escape, when Patrick did the calculations and said it would be four years of wages for the equipment and training she needed. It took ten years to get here, and she’s done _enough_ waiting. 

Something thuds in the room, and Brooke’s hand flies to her sword, only to realize how useless it is. How useless _she_ is against this, an opponent she can’t cut down with a sword. She knows the battlefield of sweat and blood and steel, but this is vials of liquids and bandages and strange equipment. She can’t do anything but wait and hope the medic can help Vanessa. It’s her duty to keep Vanessa safe, but she can’t, and it makes Brooke’s stomach writhe.

What if the medic can’t save Vanessa? What if Brooke never sees her again? She breathes past the lump in her throat. Despite their class differences, she and Vanessa have become friends, and it’s been years since Brooke has had a friend--had anyone, really. She can’t lose Vanessa. Vanessa, who breathes life into her canvases and the whole world around her, who teaches Brooke to read without teasing her, who brings out a softness in Brooke she didn’t know she still had. Brooke’s heart fills to bursting every time she thinks of Vanessa, of her curly hair and warm eyes and mischievous smile, and maybe she’s wrong in calling Vanessa her friend. Maybe what Brooke feels for her is more, much more. 

A young woman emerges from the room and Brooke jumps. She’s almost as tall as Brooke, with long limbs and sharp eyes. 

“Can I see her? Is she--“ 

“Vanessa’s fine. We cooled her off, and she’s resting now.” She pauses. “She had severe sunstroke. If you hadn’t gotten her back here in time…” Her intense gaze says what her mouth won’t, and Brooke shivers. 

“You’re—“

“I’m Yvie. The medic.” 

“You’re young for a medic,” Brooke says. 

Yvie shrugs. “You’re young for a knight.” Neither mentions the obvious, that girls aren’t allowed to do either of the things they do. 

Yvie smiles, and Brooke senses a kindred spirit, someone who also had to fight to do what she wanted. 

“Vanessa hired me,” Yvie continues. “I come from a noble family, so I was allowed a healer’s education. When the position opened here, I figured I’d take the chance, and it paid off.” 

Brooke nods. Vanessa definitely has a knack for choosing people who wouldn’t have the chance to do what they wanted otherwise, people who are up against the world just by living. 

“Can I see her?” Brooke asks again.

Yvie snorts. “You’d better. She’s been talking my ear off asking for you.”

Brooke’s heart leaps. She isn’t the only impatient one, the only one who needs to see the girl on the other side of that door right this second.

The door opens, and Brooke has to remind herself what breathing is. Moving past Scarlet and the queen, towards Vanessa, is like moving through quicksand. Vanessa lies in bed with a cloth on her forehead, and though her color is normal, she looks so tiny, so helpless, in the massive bed that’s almost swallowing her up. 

Brooke thinks of how easily she carried Vanessa, supporting her head because Vanessa couldn’t, how small and frail she was in Brooke’s arms, and Brooke can’t think of Yvie’s words, can’t think of what might have happened if she wasn’t there. Vanessa is safe, and that’s all that matters. 

“Brooke,” Vanessa croaks, motioning to the chair by the bed. Brooke drops into it before her legs stop working altogether, her heart beginning to slow.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Tired. Yvie says I have to stay in bed until the feast.” 

“Hmm, now who needs to rest?” Brooke teases gently, because the alternative is letting the fear over seeing Vanessa like this take control, and Brooke can’t let fear win, can’t let Vanessa get scared too. 

Vanessa smiles faintly, then grabs Brooke’s hand with a strength that’s taking too much effort, from the sweat beading at her temples. She meets Brooke’s eyes, expression suddenly serious, voice firm. “Thank you for getting me back here. If you weren’t there--”

“Shh,” Brooke soothes. “You don’t have to thank me. I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t get you back here. I was there. Vanessa, I--I’ll always be there.” It’s more than her duty, she realizes as she takes in Vanessa’s smile. It’s something she _wants_ to do, something she _loves_ to do. Being at Vanessa’s side, hearing her laugh and trying on ridiculous clothes in the market, listening to her stories and sharing food, is the greatest honor Brooke can imagine. 

“Just don’t make a habit of rescuing me. I’m not some damsel.” She yawns, forcing her eyes back open with an exhausted groan.

“Definitely not.” Brooke grins. “Maybe I could tell you a story?” she suggests, hoping it will help Vanessa sleep and get the rest she needs. 

Vanessa nods sleepily. 

Brooke clears her throat and thinks of her favorite one. Even though her mother hasn’t told her the story in ten years, the words will never leave her. 

“Once upon a time, a brave knight roamed the land…”

Vanessa is asleep by the time the knight begins training, and Brooke watches her gentle breaths, refusing to succumb to sleep until she knows Vanessa is safe. 

\---

Brooke must fall asleep, because she wakes to warm candlelight and inky sky. Vanessa breathes softly, and Brooke sighs in relief. She’s still in the chair, but someone draped a blanket over her.

“Brooke?”

Just for a second, Brooke wonders (hopes; _wishes_ , even) if the voice belongs to her mother. She turns and sees the queen beside her, looking nothing like the royalty she is. With the bags under her eyes and her messy hair, she’s just an ordinary mother at her daughter’s bedside. She and Brooke are just two people watching over someone they care about, equals in concern.

Brooke almost shoots out of the chair at the realization that she’s missed night duty and messed up in front of the queen. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry, I had night duty—“

“I took care of it. You deserve the night off after what you did,” the queen says quietly. “Go back to sleep.” 

Brooke does, under a mother’s gaze for the first time in ten years. 

\---

Vanessa wakes with a groan. Yesterday, it had felt like that same bad dream was coming true, that she was falling. She remembers the clearing with Brooke, and then she was falling through the world while images flickered by--Brooke’s concerned eyes watching her, her mother’s soothing whispers. She could sense things happening, but she was slipping further and further away from it all, falling and unable to right herself, to get back into her body. 

The next thing she remembered was being in the tub, her teeth chattering from the icy water. Her mother was holding her up, and Vanessa was grateful because her body was too heavy to hold up herself. Yvie and Scarlet were there, but Brooke wasn’t, and a Brooke-shaped whimper escaped her before she could stop it. All she could manage through her shivers was Brooke’s name, until they put her in bed and then Brooke was there, worried and kind, a shield while she slept. 

Now, on her birthday, with the feast hours away, she’s stuck in bed. That’s the last time she wears heavy clothes in the sun.

“What a lousy birthday,” she mutters. 

“Get used to it,” her mother says under her breath. 

“I wanted to go to the market, and--”

“And you’ll stay here until the feast,” her mother says. “Your knight agrees with me.”

Brooke blushes at being drawn into the conversation, but she nods. 

“Traitor,” Vanessa huffs, but she can’t help but smile. The way Brooke watched over her all night makes Vanessa warm inside, like Brooke is her own personal sun to keep her warm and dry and let her grow. Brooke has become so much more than her friend. She’s become someone Vanessa looks forward to seeing every morning, someone she’s closer to than she’s been with anyone in years. Someone Vanessa doesn't ever want to lose. 

Scarlet brings in breakfast, and Vanessa settles in for the day.

\---

Brooke holds the hand pies nervously at Vanessa’s bedside. It’s fitting that the first thing she spent her gold on is food, which she used to covet but couldn’t afford, and even more special because it’s for Vanessa’s birthday. 

“Happy birthday!” Brooke says, handing Vanessa two halves of each pie--one raspberry, one apple.

“Brooke, you...” Vanessa sputters. 

“I wanted you to have a little something for your birthday.”

Vanessa takes a bite, smiling as wide as Brooke did when she first tried the pie. “You know, maybe this birthday isn’t so bad.”

\---

Guests start arriving, and Vanessa is finally released from bed. Scarlet laces the dress, fastening jewelry and putting her tiara on, and Vanessa is herself for the first time all day. 

Brooke wears real armor, but this is hers: thick dresses and heavy necklaces, the golden tiara like a shield over her. Vanessa never feels as strong as she does when dressed up for feasts, everyone looking to her for what to do, listening to what she has to say. People respect her, trust her, count on her to be a good queen one day. And when she’s dressed like this, she knows she will be. 

She follows her mother into the great hall, gasping when she sees Brooke. A’keria made her a white shirt with a vest stitched from the midnight sky, tiny gold roses popping on the collar. 

Brooke gestures to herself when Vanessa sits. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect on you,” Vanessa says, the same compliment Brooke gave about her dress, that made Vanessa tingle with joy. 

Brooke smiles at her, and Vanessa is gone. She nods along when people talk, discusses trade and alliance and goods, but her real focus is on Brooke. She follows Vanessa’s lead for what forks to use, and the sight of Brooke--the strongest, boldest knight Vanessa knows--needing her help with forks only makes Vanessa’s heart open even wider for her. Brooke nudges her every time someone drones on for hours, and Vanessa has to bite her lip to keep the laughter back. By the time everyone exits, she and Brooke are giggling like fools. 

“Do you think Lord Richard still has chicken in his teeth?” Brooke asks. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Vanessa cackles. “I bet it’s still there tomorrow morning!”

“Lord Walter will probably still be talking about cobblestones tomorrow too.”

“At least we won’t have to listen to it. Did you see Lady Grace spill cake all over herself?”

“Who could’ve missed it?” Brooke giggles. 

She nestles against Brooke, her head fitting perfectly in the muscled curve of her shoulder, sheltering Vanessa from the world. 

“Want to go to my room?” Vanessa asks. “We can get hot chocolate--”

Her mother storms in with Ron behind her, and that fierce, determined look on her mother’s face is the same one she had after the king died, when the kingdom fell to her and she would do what it took to keep it. Vanessa gulps, fear bolting through her heart when her mother calls her and Brooke into the council room. 

\---

Brooke stands with Ron and faces Vanessa and her mother. It’s just like her first day here, and she fights to stop trembling. Something about this, and the sneer Ron gives her, is _wrong_ , a kind of wrong that might leave her world upside down. 

“So,” the queen begins. “There’s diamonds missing from the south wing. I’d like to know why.”

Ron shoots a smirk at Brooke. “Your Majesty, Brooke was supposed to cover that area as the guests left. Someone must have slipped in because she wasn’t there.”

Brooke’s skin steams. “No I wasn’t! You had me posted with Vanessa all night. You were supposed to cover the south wing!”

Ron assumes a face of mock concern. “Could you read the diagram? You know, if you needed help--”

“I know how to read!”

“A peasant girl like you? I doubt it.” Ron turns to the queen. “Do you really want someone who can’t follow orders on the royal guard?”

“I have Brooke to thank for my daughter’s life, Ron,” the queen says acidly, and Brooke soars with pride.

“Of course,” he says. “But it’s still her fault the diamonds are stolen.”

“I don’t care about the diamonds,” the queen says. “But if it’s diamonds one day, it could be something happening to Vanessa another, and I won’t let that happen.” Her voice is firm and vibrating with power. It’s the voice of a queen, and even Ron is silent. “Now,” the queen continues, “All I know is that jewels are missing, and someone wasn’t where they were supposed to be.”

Brooke lowers her head. “Your Majesty, I followed my orders, I promise you. Whatever I need to do to prove my innocence--”

“We could do it the old-fashioned way.” Ron smiles devilishly. 

“What do you mean?” Brooke demands, but she knows. Of course she knows.

Ron moves to the center of the room, always seeking an audience. “We could let fate decide. Duel to prove your innocence. You win, you’re innocent. I win, well...it’s up to the queen what happens to you. I think banishment is fair.”

Vanessa sucks in a breath, her worried gaze burning into Brooke. She shakes her head, and Brooke knows she’s against the idea. But Brooke still considers the offer. 

There’s nothing to prove her guilt, but also nothing to prove her innocence. And who’s to say that Ron won’t find some way to frame her, some fake evidence she can’t fight against? He could make the other knights say she was in the wrong. It’s her word against his, and he’s been captain of the guard for ten years. The queen might believe her this time, but then what? How many more times will Ron blame her for something she didn’t do, all for the crime of being poor and a girl?

But if she takes Ron on and wins, it will end. The queen will support her, and Ron will suffer the consequences of losing. Either way, he won’t bother her again after she’s defeated him on this grand a stage. With a win now--her second against the guard’s captain--she’s sure to earn her place among the others without question. She doesn’t want to rely on Vanessa or the queen to protect her. She wants to fight for herself. 

She touches the ring around her neck, searching for the answer from someone she’s tried to forget in order to protect herself, someone whose stories she's been missing a decade now. Her mother would support her no matter what, had let Brooke pretend to be a knight when most would have laughed at her, and Brooke knows what she has to do. 

Brooke turns to Ron, ignoring Vanessa’s fearful face. “You just can’t wait to lose to me again, can you?”

“Are we on, then?”

“Oh, we’re on,” Brooke says firmly, pulling up to her full height. “Let’s have a trial by combat.”

—-

After a long night of planning her attack strategy and considering Ron’s weaknesses, Brooke prepares for the duel at dawn. The queen had ordered everyone to their rooms last night, and Brooke didn’t even get to see Vanessa, try to explain, though she knows from Vanessa’s murderous stare that she wasn’t happy. Brooke can’t question whether she made the right choice, because that ship has sailed. There’s no backing down, and the thought keeps her company as she gets ready, holding herself together with armor, as bold and brave as she always is when encased in steel. 

She’s fastening her leg guards when the door bursts open. 

“You’re such a _knight_ ,” Vanessa mutters. Brooke can’t tell if she’s impressed or annoyed. Possibly both, from her folded arms. 

Brooke straightens up. “What’s that mean?”

“A trial by combat to defend your honor? A dangerous risk you don’t need to take? Sounds like a knight to me.”

“Vanessa--”

“I just don’t see why you have to do all this,” Vanessa says, her anger gone and replaced with a worried confusion. She fiddles with the sleeve of her dress, nervous in a way Brooke hasn’t seen before. It only hurts worse that she’s caused it. 

“I have to, Vanessa. I have to prove myself and show them I belong.”

“But my mother would have believed that it wasn’t your fault,” Vanessa insists. “No duel, no danger.” 

Brooke sighs. “Vanessa, I can’t. I...I can’t let Ron keep doing this and then running to you for help—“

“Now you don’t want my help?” Vanessa demands. She tries to sound angry, but Brooke knows she’s hurt underneath it all, hurt that the hours spent with their heads bent over a book, hairs brushing against each others’, was all for nothing. That what they’ve come to have is all for nothing. 

“Please,” Brooke begs. “I didn’t mean it like that. Vanessa, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me--teaching me to read and being my--my friend. I’d never turn down help from you.” She pauses. “But this is all I’ve ever wanted, and he’ll keep trying to take it away from me. Doing this myself is the only way he’ll stop.”

“But do you know the things he could do…” Vanessa’s hand flies over her mouth, like she’s afraid of mentioning the ways Ron could hurt Brooke, in case she speaks them into being. 

“I know.” Brooke says softly, and Vanessa crumbles. Her shoulders heave and her head, always raised to the world, lowers to the floor. Brooke opens her arms for Vanessa to nestle into, her tiny body trembling under Brooke’s hold. 

“Sorry,” Vanessa manages. “I just--I really care about you.”

“Me too,” Brooke says. “I’ve never cared this much about anyone.” 

Vanessa burrows her face in deeper. “Are you scared?” her voice is barely more than a whisper. 

“No.” Brooke is telling the truth, but from the way Vanessa looks up at her in fear and surprise, she knows she has to explain. “I’m not just pretending to be fine, I promise. This...this is what I do. I’ve trained almost every day for four years. I can win. I know I can.” Just like the joust, there’s no room for self-doubt. She’s been fighting all her life, whether it was for food or the right to train, and that’s what she has to think of this as. Just another fight, another practice round in the yard with Patrick giving her instructions as her sword whistled through the air. 

They stand there together, Vanessa’s breaths gentle against Brooke’s chest, each puff pulling her farther from the battlefield. Brooke could hold on forever, but Scarlet’s voice comes from the hall and says they have ten minutes. Vanessa steps back and just like that, the moment is over, the air heavy with what’s about to happen, what Brooke has to do. 

“I can do this,” Brooke says to steady them both. 

Vanessa nods, biting her lip before looking up at Brooke with a grin. “Can I give you a kiss for good luck?” Her eyes light up with hope. “You don’t need it, but—“ 

Brooke leans down and gives Vanessa her answer. It’s like she’s flying, her heart leaping out of her chest and her body aware of every sensation, of her hands burying themselves in Vanessa’s curls while Vanessa holds tight to Brooke’s hips, of the blush in her cheeks and the heat warming her down to her toes. She has to hold back a whine when Vanessa pulls away, wanting to pull her back and spend the whole day like this. 

“Let me do your breastplate,” Vanessa says, her touch trailing up Brooke's sides and making her shiver. 

“Promise you won’t leave anytime soon?” Vanessa is half-teasing, half-serious. If Brooke loses today, there’s no saying what will happen to her, but Brooke doesn’t think anything could be worse than leaving Vanessa. 

“Promise. Oh, and Vanessa, what you said the other day, about being alone... I just want to tell you, you’ll never be alone with me,” Brooke says, taking Vanessa’s hand as they head to the grounds. Vanessa leans in close, and Brooke knows she’ll never be alone with Vanessa either. 

_My brave little knight_ , her mother would say when she put Brooke to bed, tucking her under the blankets and kissing her cheek, then her nose, then her forehead. 

Today, she’ll be braver than ever. 

\---

Vanessa doesn’t hear a word as her mother gives rules for the duel. She can’t focus on anything but Brooke getting hurt, bleeding on the ground--but Brooke is a good fighter, she knows that. Brooke won’t lose this. She can’t, because Vanessa doesn’t want to be without her. She's not losing Brooke, the strongest, sweetest person she's ever known.

Vanessa’s had kisses before, in the broom closet around the corner from the great hall, filled with heavy breaths and too-wet lips and stepped-on feet. But none of them were like her kiss with Brooke. That was what a kiss is like in dreams: even as her neck strained from stretching up to Brooke, it filled her with joy until she thought she’d hit the ceiling, safe and warm and finding a home in Brooke’s arms, her entire body really alive for the first time. 

She tries to stand tall, to be brave like Brooke, but all Vanessa can see are the open spots in her armor. Brooke is only wearing a breastplate and arm and leg guards, and there’s so many work-roughened, yet soft parts of her body exposed to the sword. Vanessa forces herself to ignore her fears of Brooke’s skin getting cut and broken, a fear that stabs her heart with each breath as the duel begins. 

If there’s an art to sword-making, Brooke brings that same art to fighting, and as much as Vanessa wants to close her eyes until it’s over, she’s mesmerized by how Brooke moves. Her sword glides through the air so quick and smooth it’s like another limb, her feet blurring against the grass as she weaves out of Ron’s attacks like a dance. It’s beautiful somehow: the sweat dampening her hair, the sun sparkling off her armor, the flexing and rippling of her muscles with each sword swing. Energy and confidence pour off Brooke in waves toward the chairs Vanessa and her mother sit in. 

Vanessa’s eyes fly back and forth. Brooke swings her sword, and Ron blocks it. He goes for the attack, and Brooke slips into defense, neither gaining an inch as steel clangs through the world. There’s tiny hits here and there, a cut on Ron’s leg and one on Brooke’s arm that stains her white sleeve red, but no clear winner. Brooke finally gets a good one above Ron’s hip, but it’s not enough, and Vanessa watches in horror as his shield slams into Brooke’s knee, the one Vanessa bandaged last week, still bruised and likely sore even if Brooke doesn’t show it. 

Brooke falls with a groan that makes Vanessa ache, makes her want to take the pain from Brooke because she knows Brooke has had enough already. Vanessa’s heart stops as Ron stands over her with his sword, which is suddenly bigger than ever as it’s poised to hurt Brooke. 

“You stupid peasant girl,” Ron hisses. “Thinking you could beat me.” He brings his sword down--

A noise somewhere between a gasp and a scream escapes Vanessa’s lips before she can stop it, clapping her hands over her mouth a second later. 

The noise must spark something in Brooke, maybe the reminder of her promise, and she gets her sword up in time to block the hit. She springs to her feet, her hits fiercer, more focused, flying at Ron so fast that he can barely stop them. There’s one last clang, and then Brooke flicks her wrist and sends the sword flying out of Ron’s hand. Vanessa leaps to her feet, heart caught in her throat as she watches the rest. 

Brooke brings her blade to his throat and grins. “Do you yield?”

Ron spits at her. “No.”

Brooke inches closer, the tip of her sword nearly at his throat. “Do you admit the diamonds getting stolen was your fault?”

“No.”

Brooke presses the sword-tip right against his throat, enough to draw blood if Ron moves. “Do you confess?”

Ron bites his lip, wavering as he realizes that Brooke won’t back down. “Fine! I was trying to find a princess to kiss me and wasn’t guarding the south wing.”

Brooke glares. “And?”

“And I blamed you for it to get you off the guard. You didn't deserve it. You got lucky, beating me--”

“I’ve beat you twice now. Luck has nothing to do with it,” Brooke says coolly, turning to the queen. “Did you hear his confession, Your Majesty?”

Vanessa’s mother stands. “I did.” She walks over to them, instructing Brooke to lower her weapon. Even though it’s because she’s won, Vanessa can’t help the clenching fear over Brooke being defenseless. 

The queen turns to Ron. “I believe you said banishment was fair, Ron? Well, you’re stripped of your knighthood and are no longer part of this guard or this kingdom. You’ll leave this city now, and if you ever come back, the guards have orders to kill.”

Vanessa shivers at her mother’s words. She remembers the day her father died, how her mother cried at first but then squared her shoulders and said she would do her best for the kingdom until Vanessa came of age. There’s some similarity in her mother and Brooke, two people of steel with velvet underneath if you could get close enough to see it. 

Ron is escorted from the grounds, and Vanessa runs across the grass as Brooke staggers toward her. 

Vanessa comes to a stop in front of Brooke, wanting so badly to hug her and know that she’s really here and whole, yet not wanting to hurt her any more or cause her pain. “Brooke, are you--your arm--your knee--”

“It hurts,” Brooke admits, and Vanessa knows Brooke must trust her to voice it. “But I’ll manage.”

“Good.” Vanessa hesitantly holds Brooke’s hand, since there’s no cuts there, squeezing tight and letting her heart slow down, accepting that they’re both safe. “And don’t ever do that to me again!”

Brooke laughs. “I promise.”

Her mother clears her throat, and they both look up. 

“If it’s all right with both of you,” she begins, “I think we should return to the castle and knight Brooke today. I see no point to delay any further.”

Brooke grins, her eyes wide and shining, and for a minute Vanessa sees the child she once was, using tree branches as swords and hoping for a real one someday, hoping to be like the knights of legends and protect the kingdom. 

Vanessa wishes she could tell that little girl that her dream would come true, and she hugs Brooke now and hopes that young part of her gets the message. 

\---

Brooke walks through the throne room with her head raised high. She did everything she set out to do, everything she ever wanted. All the stories of honor and bravery and loyalty are her life now, virtues she'll live by to keep the kingdom safe. She earned her place here, earned her knighthood, and even found someone she loves. She wishes her mother was here to see it, but Brooke smooths a finger over her ring and knows that she is. 

She comes to a stop before Vanessa and her mother, both wearing identical grins. 

“Please kneel,” Vanessa says, and Brooke does, grateful for the pillow Vanessa set down for Brooke’s injured knee, which was freshly bandaged, along with her arm, by Yvie’s expert touch. 

Vanessa leans forward, buckling under the weight of a sword as tall as she is. “I don’t _think_ I’ll drop this on you,” she whispers. 

“That’s comforting,” Brooke mutters with a smile. 

Vanessa winks at her, beginning the words Brooke has dreamed of hearing her whole life, words she’s answered in her sleep. “Do you promise to be honorable, loyal, and courageous in your service to the kingdom?”

“I do.”

“Do you promise to protect this kingdom, its land, and its people?”

“I do.”

Vanessa grunts as she lifts the sword, touching it to each of Brooke’s shoulders. “Brooke Lynn Hytes, I name you a knight of the kingdom.”

Brooke leaps to her feet, the pain from the fight suddenly gone. There’s nothing but the joy in her chest, the pride in herself and all she’s done, the wide smile on Vanessa’s face as she wraps her arms around Brooke. 

“Do you promise to kiss me right now?” Vanessa giggles in Brooke’s ear. 

Brooke lowers her lips to Vanessa’s and she thinks that sometimes, happily ever afters do exist.


End file.
